


Yes Minister

by SarRansom



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Age Difference, Drabble, F/M, Ministry of Magic (Harry Potter), Not Epilogue Compliant, Post-War, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-01
Updated: 2020-10-11
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:20:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 30
Words: 19,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26184844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SarRansom/pseuds/SarRansom
Summary: He’s her boss, her comrade in arms, the Minister of Magic. Completely unattainable and completely off limits.She’s his employee, a war heroine, half his age. He feels lecherous for even looking twice at her.When Hermione accepted a position as undersecretary to the Minister of Magic, the last thing she expected was an office romance. After all, there’s Azkaban to overhaul and Muggle-born quotas to enact; the last thing she needs is to be distracted.When Kingsley hired Hermione Granger, he hadn’t expected the war heroine to capture his interest for anything other than her strange memory for Wizengamot precedents. But Hermione seems to see the man behind the Minister’s title and Kingsley knows he’s in more danger now than he has been in years.A sweet, uncomplicated story of an office romance, told in daily drabbles throughout September.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Kingsley Shacklebolt
Comments: 96
Kudos: 163





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> This fic comes to you courtesy of a severe case of writers block, too many re-runs of The West Wing and Stage 4 Covid lockdown. I’ve challenged myself to write and post short, daily updates for all of September. I’m hoping this will get me writing regularly again, as well as providing some sweet, uncomplicated fluff to myself and all those who need it.  
> Updates will likely be posted in the evening, Australian Eastern Standard time.

Hermione Granger, 20 year old war veteran, Order of Merlin first class and recent recipient of 7 Outstanding N.E.W.T’s, felt like a kid on the first day of school.

Her parents fussed over her, straightening her robes, snapping photos on their iPhones and pressing a packed lunch into her hands.

She was equal parts nervous and excited as she convulsively checked her appearance in the mirror over the fireplace of her parents’ formal sitting room. Her robes were the expected black of the Ministry and were fitted over her more Muggle business attire of sensible pencil skirt, blouse and low heel. Her hair, she had managed to tame into something almost like submission. Her dad told her she looked like a barrister, if only she’d add the wig. They were so proud, her mum said.

A good government job, undersecretary to the Minister no less, was something her parents could understand. 

She smiled at them, kissed them both and stepped into the fireplace in their formal sitting room.

Harry and Ron awaited her on the other side of the Floo in the Atrium of the Ministry, both garbed in standard issue Ministry black with jeans, trainers and jumpers underneath indicating their roles as trainee Aurors. Hard to catch bad guys in loafers, Ron had laughed the year prior when Mrs. Weasley had ranted and raved about his work attire.

“Looking good Hermione,” Ron stepped forward and pressed a kiss to her curls, Harry echoing the sentiment and the affection. From somewhere to their left, a camera flashed.

She beamed at the pair of them, swallowing her nerves and tucking her hands under each of their elbows, allowing them to lead her towards the lifts. 

“Ready to change the world, Madame Undersecretary?” Harry asked as they waited for the lift, pretending not to notice when, transfixed by the sight of the Golden Trio together at the Ministry, a middle aged man walked directly into the closed lift doors. 

“So ready! I’ve been reading…” Hermione started, breaking off when Harry and Ron laughed. “Yes, unusual for me I know. But Kinglsey’s agenda for the next six months is so exciting! Azkaban reform and then the Wizengamot, I can’t wait to get started.”

“Think we ought to warn Kings,” Ron muttered to Harry. “Remind Hermione to eat, sleep and occasionally stop to draw breath.”

“I heard that,” Hermione laughed at her ex-boyfriend and best friend, fondness overwhelming her. “I managed not to have a complete breakdown getting my N.E.W.T’s thank you very much.”

“It was a close run thing according to Gin,” Harry raised his brows at her. 

“Yes, well,” Hermione said lamely; it had been a close run as her exams had approached, coinciding with the anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts and the related nightmares and panic attacks. “This is my floor!” 

“Good luck Hermione!” The boys chorused as she stepped off the lift on the first floor. “Good luck to Kingsley more like it,” she heard as the doors closed behind her.  
Rolling her eyes, Hermione walked down the hall, stopping at the end of the passage in front of the office door that read:

Level One – Ministers Office

Taking a deep breath, Hermione pushed open the door and walked inside.

“Good morning,” she greeted Kingsley’s personal assistant, Roger Wittinghanm, a wizard of similar age to her parents who she had met at various interviews and functions in the last twelve months. 

“Good morning Miss Granger,” Roger greeted her, barely glancing up from the schedule he was frantically revising. Kingsley had joked with Harry once that he rarely saw anything but the top of Roger’s balding head as he dealt with the constant changes to Kingsley’s schedule. “Welcome to chaos.”

“Can I help?” Hermione asked immediately, dropping her bag and leaning over Roger’s desk. He thrust a folder at her unceremoniously with instructions to summarise the contents into dot points prior to Kingsley’s 10am meeting. Her desk, Roger explained waving an errant hand, was through there.

Hermione followed the direction he had indicated, smiling uncertain hello’s to those who looked up at her. The office was a hive of activity and noise as Kingsley’s personal staff of twelve witches and wizards prepared for the day. Each staff member had a distinct role, from Roger as Kingsley’s PA, to Persephone, his media liaison and Sandro, who was head of research. Hermione’s primary role was to advice the Minister on policy, a role she knew she was very young and inexperienced to hold and likely, significantly underqualified for.  
She had not expected such an opportunity straight out of Hogwarts, had assumed it would take several years for her to work towards such an illustrious position. She knew public relations likely had a lot to do with her appointment; sixteen months into his tenure as Minister, Kingsley was still working to undo much of the damage caused by the Death Eaters reign over the Ministry and having all three members of the Golden Trio in his government was a public relations dream. Hermione tried not to let it bother her; she knew she had the ability to do the job if she worked hard. She would be an asset to Kingsley’s team and to the Ministry and to Muggle-borns everywhere. She would…

“Hard at work already Hermione?” 

She glanced up from the position she had unconsciously taken behind her large desk, to see Kingsley Shacklebolt, Minister for Magic, propped in the doorway, smiling at her. He was impeccably dressed in a muggle three piece suit, with a matching robe thrown over his shoulders. He was the picture of casual elegance and Hermione’s treacherous heart felt as if it had lodged in her throat.

She swallowed reflexively.

“Yes Minister,” she answered, hoping her cheeks didn’t look as hot as they felt and barely resisting the urge to fan them. “Preparing for your 10am Floo call with the Minister from Uruguay.”

Her reaction was nothing new, she had always been attracted to Kingsley on both a physical and intellectual level. It was a well accepted fact that the Minister of Magic was incredibly attractive, with his muscular, broad physique, rich skin and startlingly dark eyes. More than the physical though, Hermione was attracted to the quiet, steady, controlled power than lingered, restrained under the surface. Kingsley oozed competence; from his slow, deep voice to his commanding control of those around him and his easy proficiency of even the most complex magic. Hermione rationalised that any person, wizard or witch, would be hard pressed to not be attracted to such a powerful and kind man. She only hoped that, in working so closely with him, her reaction to his presence would lessen over time. 

“Kingsley, Hermione,” he corrected. “You can’t fight a war together and still stand on such formalities.”

“Or escape from the Dark Lord together on a threstral,” Hermione quipped, proud of such a normal response, the same she might have given to Harry or Neville. Kingsley rewarded her with a widening of his smile, showing the brilliant white of his teeth.

“Indeed. I hope you’re ready for some hard work Hermione, we have a lot to accomplish together in the next six months you and me.”

“I can’t wait.”


	2. Two

Hiring Hermione Granger as his undersecretary had not been a PR decision. 

Kingsley was no fool, he had known hiring the brains of the Golden Trio would play out well in the media, but it had not been his primary reason for giving her the job. He had wanted her in his office because he had trusted and respected her for years. She had impressed him with her intellect at fifteen as they sipped tea in the grimy kitchen of Number 12 Grimmauld Place and debated ideas regarding the intersection of Muggle and wizarding culture. The following year he had been blown away by her bravery as they fought alongside one another in the Department of Mysteries , an experience that had been repeated all too many times over the two years that had followed. When he had learned the lengths she had gone to in order to keep her parents safe he had been astounded by the complexity of the spells she had cast, as well as the courage it must have taken to take such an action. He had personally ordered the Granger’s recovery by a team of highly trained Unspeakables, who, upon returning to England, Helen and Richard Granger in tow, had asked that Hermione be assigned to their team upon her graduation from Hogwarts.

Kingsley had decided to keep her for himself instead.

Having secured his tenure as Minister only three months earlier, Kingsley was preparing to launch a policy platform that would change the way the Ministry had worked for hundreds of years and gain him just as many enemies as it would fans. It was time to wrestle control of the Wizengamot away from the Sacred 28 families, his own included, and allow Muggle-borns a place in the upper echelons of the Wizarding government. It would be contentious and difficult to accomplish, but nothing worth doing was ever easy and wasn’t a powerful, intelligent young witch like Hermione Granger proof that Muggle-borns were just as capable as any member of the old boys club that was the Wizengamot?

He had only to glance at Hermione on her first day in his office to know he had made a good decision. Dressed as she was, seamlessly blending her Muggle background with the expected robes of the Ministry, she was an argument for progress. That she was hard at work before he had even arrived in the office, doing work not her own, was exactly what he had expected from her. 

Her desk was directly outside his office and the sound of her laughter drew his attention. Smiling, he returned to the memo he was trying to memorise prior to his next meeting but a desire to know the cause for her laughter niggled at him until he stood from his desk and opened the door.

Ron Weasley was seated opposite her, a packed lunch spread out over the desk between them. They were both laughing and the camaraderie between them was so easy, so obvious, that Kingsley felt a fission of jealousy, unexpected and unwanted. 

Their laughter broke off at the sight of Kingsley standing in the door way.

“Heya Kingsley,” Ron greeted easily, they saw each other around the Ministry frequently and had occasionally shared a pint together in the Auror office. Kingsley wandered down to his old team regularly, missing the controlled chaos and adrenalin rush of that elite team.

“Are we being too loud?” Hermione asked in horror. “I’m so sorry, Ron just stopped by with some lunch Mrs Weasley packed us for my first day. Would you like to join us? There’s plenty of food, Harry was meant to join us but he was called out on a case.”

“No need to apologise,” Kingsley reassured them, feeling very much the third wheel and wondering how often Harry felt the same when interacting with the young couple. “I won’t join you though, thank you. Enjoy your lunch.” 

Kingsley closed his office door, feeling very old and very, very lonely. It had been five years since he had last been in a romantic relationship; odd really, that Hermione Granger should remind him of that fact.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hermione and Ron are not together and haven’t been for some time. But Kingsley seems to have missed that fact…


	3. Three

As Kingsley had predicted, Hermione had been forced to hit the ground running in her first few weeks as Undersecretary to the Minister. The Wizengamot was in session and the first of Kinsley’s new policies had been introduced. The Dementors had been forced off Azkaban immediately following the Battle of Hogwarts and now further reforms had been introduced. The conditions of the island prison were inhumane, was the basis of their argument, even without the Dementors presence. Nobody was suggesting the prison should be luxurious, but basic standards of hygiene, nutrition and medical care should be met. 

To Hermione, who had attempted to prevent the execution of a Hippogriff at fourteen and championed the rights of house elves at fifteen, this legislation seemed well overdue.

“I just keep seeing Sirius when he first escaped Azkaban,” she told Kingsley, the first time they discussed the introduction of the bill. “And he was one of the lucky ones.”

In a manner very familiar to those that knew her well, Hermione committed fully to the preparation of the bill, almost to the exclusion of food, sleep or sanity. Harry and Ron laughed and rolled their eyes, occasionally delivering food or a sleeping potion laced cup of tea. 

“She’s okay,” Ron had told Harry as they left her sleeping at her desk, parchment stuck to her cheek and a quill still in her hand. “Until her hair starts sparking, we know she’s fine.”

Kingsley was more appreciative of her effort, which allowed him to focus on the other aspects of his role, knowing she had the preparation for the bill well in hand. 

“I hope Ron doesn’t mind all these late nights you’re working,” Kingsley commented to her as they sat in his office the night before the legislation was to be presented to the Wizengamot. Hermione had insisted on re-writing section 11, clause 22b, sure she had left it to open to interpretation and Kingsley watched in fascination as blue sparks of magic came from the frizz of her hair as she frantically wrote. 

“What? Ron? Oh no, he and Harry are used to me being like this,” she answered distractedly. “Here, what do you think of this?”

Kingsley dutifully read the section she had indicated, thinking errantly that if it was his bed she ended the night in, he might not be quite as understanding as Ron seemed to be.


	4. Four

Kingsley barely resisted the urge to whistle as he walked down a rarely-used corridor on the third floor. Kingsley knew all the back corridors in the Ministry, some from his days as an Auror and others he had learnt in the last twelve months in an effort to avoid the masses. He couldn’t enter a lift these days without being intercepted by both press or ministry workers and the hallways were no better. Moments of silence and solitude were commodities in his work day and he valued each and every one of them.

The Azkaban Reform bill had been introduced that morning and, thanks mostly to Hermione’s hard work, it had been better accepted than Kingsley could have hoped. There was still a great deal of work left to do before the bill was eventually voted on, but Kingsley was more hopeful than he had expected given its reception that morning. 

Hermione had wilted with exhaustion when they had recessed; she had been up most of the night revising the bill again and again. Kingsley had sent her home to get some sleep, despite her protests she was fine, or would be after an Invigorating Draught. 

He chuckled lowly to himself as he recalled the sight that had greeted him when he arrived at his office that morning before dawn. He had left at midnight the night before, Hermione promising she was just behind him. Obviously he should have insisted they walk to the Floo’s together, as when he had arrived back at the office six hours later, it was to the sight of Hermione fast asleep at his desk, her head pillowed on her arms, ink staining her cheek, lip and hand. 

Filled with fond exasperation for the young woman who was so committed to her job, Kingsley had shed his outer robe and called quietly for one of the Ministry elves, ordering coffee and breakfast for two. Not wanting to wake her until the caffeine and food arrived, Kingsley quietly tidied around her, noting the further amendments to the bill she had made notes suggesting after he had left early that morning. Hermione’s face was pressed up against the final three pages, leaving Kingsley at odds. He felt odd sitting in the room with his sleeping Undersecretary unaware of his presence, but would have felt odder still to leave and stand in the corridor. Without meaning to, he found himself examining her ink stained face as she slept, taking note of how young and untroubled she appeared in her sleep. She had, Kingsley noted, grown into a beautiful young woman. War and stress had aged her prematurely, as it had them all, but Hermione had the classically fine features of a woman who would be beautiful even into her dotage. 

He had grown fond of her, he had realised as he watched her sleep, her mouth slightly open, her breathing regular. Fonder than he had been when he had hired her. Her work ethic and passion for social justice appealed to him immensely and made her more attractive to him than she already had been…

Kingsley came to a halt in the corridor, his reflections bringing him up short. More attractive? Since when had he considered Hermione Granger attractive at all, other than in a purely academic fashion? She was his employee; she was half his age for Merlin’s sake! And she was in a relationship with Ron Weasley. 

Standing stock still in the hallway, Kingsley automatically moved into the shadows as he heard approaching footsteps, his years as an Auror schooling him into the action without thought. Ron Weasley tripped into his view, tugging the hand of a young woman he vaguely recognised from the Department of Magical Catastrophes. 

Kingsley watched in disbelief as Ron pushed the same young woman, a young woman who was decidedly not Hermione Granger, up against the wall and kissed her passionately, barely lifting his head to throw open the door to a supply closet and move inside. The brief flare of light around the edges of the doorframe told Kingsley the door had been locked, warded and silenced.

Kingsley was not a man given to anger; he had been well known for his cool control since his days at Hogwarts. It was a trait that had served him well as an Auror, as a master duellist and now as Minister. He was nearly always calm, collected and rational, even under the most intense of strain. But in that moment, Kingsley was sure he could have physically removed Ron Weasley’s head from his useless shoulders without blinking an eye.


	5. Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Idris Elba is who I picture Kingsley as in my head when writing. Who do you all picture when reading?

Ron Weasley was having an excellent Tuesday.

He had not been called into work the night before, despite being on call for any emergencies that may result in the need for the presence of a junior Auror. As a result, he had slept well and woken to the smell of his mother’s delicious pancakes, which she rarely made on a weekday despite them being his favourite breakfast. Having helped himself to three servings, he had arrived on time to work to see his payslip sitting in his in tray. Ron loved pay day; having grown up with nary a knut to rub together seeing his Gringott’s account slowly accumulate was a real pleasure. 

His day had improved again when the cafeteria had served his favourite stew for lunch and, then again when Tikva Hughes, from the Department of Magical Catastrophes, whom he had been flirting with for three weeks, dropped a memo on his desk inviting him to a supply cupboard on the third floor he had become intimately familiar with in the last twelve months.

An excellent Tuesday indeed.

That was, at least, until, after giving Tikva a ten minute head start, Ron straightened his robes, horribly crumpled from their time on the floor, and exited the supply cupboard, only to be shoved violently against the wall, a forearm against his throat and found himself staring down the wand of the Minister of Magic himself.

“Kings, what the hell?” He gasped out, swallowing convulsively as the broad forearm pressed tighter against his windpipe, cutting off his oxygen supply. 

Ron had fought in battles alongside Kingsley Shacklebolt, including one in which the Minister had duelled Voldemort himself, but Ron had never seen such rage in Kingsley’s eyes as he saw now.

“You’re a real piece of shit, you know that?” Kingsley hissed at him, his voice quivering with barely supressed rage. “You’ve got exactly 30 seconds to explain why I shouldn’t blast you into this wall. Don’t think I won’t. I’ll even go to tell your parents myself, tragic really, that you should die on duty after surviving so much at such a young age.”

“Kings…can’t breathe.”

The pressure on his neck loosened and Ron gulped in mouthful after mouthful of sweet oxygen. 

“Why…. What...?” Ron gasped, massaging his neck. “What the fuck is your problem Shacklebolt?” 

“My problem is that you’ve got an incredibly beautiful, intelligent, lovely girlfriend, and you’re sneaking into store cupboards with random witches from other departments,” Kingsley’s wand was still pointed directly at Ron’s nose. “As if it’s not bad enough to cheat, you do it in her workplace, where she could see you.” 

“This is about Hermione?” Ron gaped, suddenly wondering if Kingsley had somehow acquired some spell damage.

“Remembered she exists have you?” Kingsley ground out.

“Mate, you need to stow your wand and go and get your facts straight,” Ron was too annoyed to be frightened now. Besides, now that he could breathe he didn’t think Kingsley would _actually_ kill him. “Go ahead, go and tell Hermione what you’ve just seen, and done, and then come back to me.”

Kingsley’s wand drooped, confusion crossing his features.

“You want me to tell Hermione?”

“Yep, go and tell her and see what she says.”

“Fine,” Kingsley snapped out, his temper cooling and confusion winning out. He stepped away from the much younger wizard and turned without another word, striding purposefully down the still otherwise abandoned corridor. 

“I’ll be in my cubicle whenever you want to come and apologise to me!” Ron yelled at his retreating back. “Mental.”


	6. Six

Unwilling to disobey a direct command from her boss, Hermione had gone home to sleep. For two hours. Then, upon waking, she had downed an Invigoration Draught, showered and changed her clothes and Floo’d back to the Ministry. 

Kingsley’s office door was open when she arrived at her desk and he called to her as soon as she had put her bag down.

“Can you come in here a moment please Hermione? And close the door behind you.”

“I know I was meant to take the day,” Hermione began as she entered his office, kicking the door shut with her heel and taking the comfortable green upholstered seat opposite Kingsley that she had begun to think of as her own. “But there’s still so much to do before question time tomorrow and I think Madame Herbert wasn’t convinced about the clause regarding basic hygiene and…”

“Forget the bill for a moment Hermione,” Kingsley interrupted, he looked, Hermione thought, as tired as she’d felt earlier. “I want to ask you a question, but please know I’m asking it as a friend, not as your boss or as the Minister for Magic.”

A fission of nervous excitement shot through Hermione and settled somewhere low in her stomach. 

“What is your relationship with Ronald Weasley?”

Ron? Hermione was startled, she didn’t know what she had been expecting Kingsley to ask, but it hadn’t been that.

“Ron’s my best friend,” she replied easily. “Him and Harry of course. Remember the whole Golden Trio nonsense? Fought in a war together, defeated a Dark Lord.” She forced a laugh.

“I thought you two were,” Kingsley waved a hand. “Dating?” 

“We were,” Hermione replied, her brow pulling low in confusion. “For about, six weeks after the Battle of Hogwarts. Then we realised we drove each other even crazier as a couple than we did as friends, and that grief and passion weren’t really enough to sustain a relationship…”

She broke off, mortified to have mentioned her sex life with her ex-boyfriend to her boss. 

“Shit,” Kingsley muttered, slouching in his chair and passing a hand over his face. “Well…. shit. I’ve, uh, I’ve made something of a mistake in threatening his life then.”

“What?” Hermione exclaimed. 

“I may have seen him entering a supply closet on the third floor with a witch from the Department of Magical Catastrophes and umm, threatened to kill him and make it look like a work related death?” Kingsley avoided her gaze, sheepish repentance written all over his usually assured features. 

“Why?” Hermione demanded, her brain struggling to make sense of what he was saying.

“For cheating on you?” Kingsley responded. “I didn’t realise…. I thought…”

“You were defending me,” Hermione finished for him, touched by such an unexpected display. She had never known Kingsley to lose his temper and that he had done so in defence of her… She tried to ignore the traitorous racing of her heart.

“I was acting like a hot headed teenager,” Kingsley groaned. “Even if I had been right and he had been cheating, I have no right to act like a cave man, defending your honour. Forgive me, Hermione?”

“Of course,” Hermione agreed easily, knowing her cheeks were red and, she was fairly sure she was grinning like an idiot. “I appreciate your loyalty, Kingsley. Though I do think you probably ought to apologise to Ron for threatening to kill him.”

Kingsley laughed, choosing not to mention the matter of having almost strangled her best friend to death.


	7. Seven

An awkward atmosphere settled over the working space Kingsley and Hermione shared over the following days, both feeling uncertain and more than a little insecure following Kingsley’s spectacular outburst at Ron.

Kingsley had immediately apologised to Ron, tempering his contrition with a reminder about the Ministry of Magic’s behavioural code of conduct which very distinctly mentioned appropriate and inappropriate work place behaviours. Sex in supply closets, Kingsley told Ron, was distinctly in the latter category.

Handing Kingsley a pint from the keg in the Auror office Kingsley pretended to know nothing about, Ron pointed out that the Minister threatening to murder an Auror in cold blood and make his death look like an accident was likely in the inappropriate category also.

Both agreed to pretend neither incident had ever happened.

“She’s great, y’know, Hermione,” Ron told him as they finished their beers. “She’s really great. Scary smart and brave and loyal and just… great.”

“I know,” Kingsley agreed. “She’s also my employee and half my age.”

“Don’t think any of that would bother her,” Ron muttered, but let the subject drop.

It felt uncomfortably like admitting he was developing feelings for her, and Kingsley abruptly changed the subject. 

It was the skirts, Kingsley tried to convince himself later that night, those sensible skirts and the practical heels they were paired with every day and the expanse of creamy, smooth skin between them. And it was the blouses, the button down, form fitted blouses, tucked into the skirts and begging to be undone, untucked, reefed off…

Kingsley’s head hit his desk with a thunk; now he was objectifying her in an effort to convince himself that his actions were the result of nothing except sexual frustration. She was lovely, but she was also wickedly intelligent and driven and so committed to his policy platform succeeding that it was hard not to find that both appealing and attractive. 

She may only have been twenty but she was more mature than many forty year olds he knew, and she had been through more than what most witches endured in a lifetime and…

He was a walking cliché. 

She was his employee, she was a war heroine, never mind that she was half his age. He felt lecherous for even looking twice at her. 

No matter what Ron not-her-boyfriend Weasley thought, she would mind and she should. She should mind a lot.


	8. Eight

Hermione Granger was in deep, deep trouble. 

Hiding in the office bathroom, gulping in shallow breaths, with a steady stream of cool water directed at her face from the tip of her wand, she was, simply, screwed.

She loved her job, it was everything she could have wished for, better than she could have expected straight out of Hogwarts, Golden Trio nonsense notwithstanding. She was able to use her skills in research, analysis and planning to actually make a difference to magical society. She was listened to, her opinion and hard work respected. 

And she had to go and spoil it all by crushing on her boss.

It was ridiculous, she told herself firmly, beyond ridiculous really. He was her boss, he was the Minister for Magic, he was twice her age and far more attractive than any man she could ever presume to be interested in and…

…she was hyperventilating again.

She had always known Kingsley was attractive, it was a fact. It was impossible to miss really, tall, strong and commanding as he was. She had always liked Kingsley too, always respected his quiet authority and presence and always appreciated that he had, in turn, respected her. Working so closely alongside him though had given her a whole barrage of new things to appreciate about him.

Like that he smelled good, like fresh parchment, new rain and a particular cologne, warmed against the heat of his body.

Like that he was quick witted in a way that was intelligent and humorous but never cruel or spiteful.

Like that he worked just as hard as she did and seemed to respect and value her work ethic in a way that was completely foreign to her.

And that his forearms, his forearms, were attractive.

Hermione groaned aloud.

She had fled to the bathroom following a conversation with Kingsley in his office. Midway through their chat, as he paced and thought aloud, Kingsley had shed his outer robe as he often did when working from his office. Hermione had been distracted by the sight of his pale blue shirt and the way it clung to his broad shoulders and chest, narrowing off at his hips. Then, as he paced, Kingsley had undone the buttons at his wrists, and with a precision that left her gaping, had folded back his shirtsleeves, rolling them to crisp pleats at his elbows with no apparent awareness that the sight of his strong, muscular forearms, lightly dusted with hair, had his Undersecretary, who was normally a very sensible witch, hyperventilating.

She was screwed.


	9. Nine

Another Friday night, another function to attend, such was the humdrum of Kingsley’s life these days. Another round of handshakes and favours to be asked, another speech and another tedious night of none-too-subtle probing as to why the Minister of Magic was once again attending a function stag. 

It was not as if he had chosen to be alone, Kingsley reflected as he nodded and smiled politely at the completely inane conversation of Lou Macmillan, who seemed determined that her granddaughter Amity would make an excellent politicians wife. He had always pictured himself being a husband and a father, but his career and two wars had stood in the way of that. Besides, he was only 41 and hell, he felt 21 most days, there was nothing stopping him finding the right witch and settling down. 

Except being Minister for Magic of course. 

And being infatuated with one of his much younger staff members.

It always came back to Hermione in the end.

Murmuring his excuses, Kingsley made for the lifts, pretending not to hear those that called his name as he went. One of the few benefits of his PR teams insistence on holding regular events in the newly renovated atrium of the Ministry, was that he could slip up to his office when he was in need of an escape.

The lights burnt low in the Ministers offices, creating a warm and welcoming ambience that immediately soothed him. He shed his formal dress robes as he walked, leaving him much more casually attired in his shirt sleeves and trousers. It was past ten on a Friday evening, so of course the office was deserted, all his staff at home with their families or out with friends to celebrate the end of a long, hard week.

Except of course, Hermione.

He should have known she would be there.

He had known. It had been more than ennui drawing him from the party of course.

She sat in his chair behind his desk, her quill scratching. She was still dressed as she had been that day, her usual combination of sensible skirt, blouse and heels. She looked tired.

She looked wonderful.

“Kingsley,” she gasped, flying out of his seat as she caught sight of him, her hands frantically gathering up her work. “I’m so sorry, I wasn’t expecting you. I came in to get the report from the DMLE off your desk and I got caught up…”

“Hermione,” he crossed the room in strides until he was standing behind her. “It’s fine, you’re welcome to use my desk any time. I shouldn’t even be here. I was just escaping from the party downstairs.”

“Persephone will be upset with you,” she absentmindedly reproached, referencing the head of his PR team, as she continued to scramble to gather her belongings. 

“Persephone is always upset with me for something or other,” Kingsley chuckled, without conscious thought he lifted his hands and placed them on her shoulders. Her frantic movements stilled immediately. “Hermione, stop.”

She spun, her nose almost bumping his chest.

“You look nice,” she told him, looking up at his face, her cheeks flushed. 

“So do you,” Kingsley was aware his hands were still on her shoulders, but he couldn’t bring himself to move them. Without conscious thought, one finger stretched out and ran the length of her neck, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake. 

There was no response he could offer except to bend his head and brush his lips against hers.


	10. Ten

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had an awful day yesterday and went to bed instead of updating. I'm so sorry to have missed a day though. I'm aiming to post 2 chapters tomorrow to make up for it.
> 
> The world is an awful, scary place right now, I hope you're all safe and well x

She had been daydreaming about Kingsley when he had walked in.

Sitting at his desk, in his huge, oversized chair that she sunk comfortably into felt a little like what she imagined his embrace would feel like. His scent clung to the leather and she imagined she could feel the warmth his body had left behind. 

Then he had arrived, sending her wits scrambling and her hands scrambling. He was dressed to go out for the evening and when he had entered her space and she could feel the heat of his body radiating towards her and smell his cologne, her brain had shut down completely.

She gasped into his mouth as their lips met and what may have been intended as a ghosting of lips quickly escalated into something much more visceral. His lips were full and soft and his mouth tasted of Firewhisky and something sweet and warm that reminded her of his cologne. It was so delicious, so tantalising, that Hermione’s tongue snuck out to chase the flavour, pressing against his lips and then his own tongue and it was his turn to gasp, a low, deep sound she felt rumbling through her body where their chests were pressed together.

The passion and arousal that had lay dormant under the surface for weeks burst forth in a melding of lips and frantic hands. Hermione fisted her hands in Kingsley’s shirt, trying to pull him closer to her, instinctively knowing that the feel of his chest against her own might dull the ache in her nipples. Kingsley’s hands splayed against her back, pushing her closer to him and she moaned into his mouth, her head heady with the intoxicating rush of pleasure he was eliciting with his tongue, lips and hands. 

Somehow, she wasn’t sure how, she was perched on Kingsley’s desks, her legs falling open indecently in invitation. Kingsley filled the gap she had left for her, pressing forward and growling as her tight skirt hampered his attempts to get close to her. He reached down, roughly pushing her skirt towards her hips, his hands leaving trails of fire on her skin that left her gasping. He stepped forward, rutting against the cleft of her thighs desperately and as Hermione felt him press against her core she moaned again in pleasure. 

“Gods,” Kingsley gasped at the sound of her moan. “Hermione.”

Her fingers fumbled with his shirt, feeling fat and uncooperative as she struggled with his buttons, distracted into clumsiness by the feeling of his teeth and lips on her neck and the path his hands were tracing up her thighs. 

The crash of an ink bottle falling to the ground as her thighs wrapped around his waist bought her back to reality with the same intensity of being doused in cold water.

Shame filled her as she realised what a wanton picture she made; legs akimbo, panting like a bitch in heat as her boss, her boss!, pushed up against her. Scrambling up, she flew off the desk like she had been burnt, pulling her skirt down over her legs, tears springing to her eyes.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” she gasped and, before Kingsley could so much as say her name, she fled.


	11. Eleven

Three quarters of the way through an excellent bottle of Firewhisky, Kingsley had it figured out. 

He was a pervert. 

It was the only explanation.

How else could he have gotten it so very, very wrong? How else could he have presumed that Hermione Granger, member of the Golden Trio, brightest witch of her generation, all of twenty years old, would ever have welcomed his pathetic pawing and clumsy attempts at seduction? 

That he had thought she had been willing, eager even was proof of just how depraved he was. She was beautiful and intelligent and gods so sexy and he was old and an idiot and…

… really rather drunk actually.

Thanking Merlin he had thought to Floo home before he had started drinking in earnest. He stumbled towards the bathroom, knowing he had Sober Up Potion in the medicine cabinet and regretting every moment of stupidity that had led him to this moment. Knocking back the vile tasting green potion, his head spun for a moment before he suddenly lurched for the toilet, throwing up the contents of his stomach and, quite possibly, his will to live along with it.

She would resign on Monday morning, his pounding head knew that much as he sat on the floor of his shower, letting the warm water wash away the vomit that clung to his face. He would lose an excellent Undersecretary and her career would be destroyed when it had barely started, all because he was a horny fucker who lusted after a woman half his age, who he had never had a chance with. 

She had kissed him back, he knew that, but really, what choice did she have? It wasn’t as if he had asked, or given her an opportunity to say no. It was a shocking abuse of privilege, the exact kind of behaviour Kingsley abhorred. Never could he have imagined he would sink so low.

He liked Hermione, if the circumstances were different she was exactly the sort of woman he would have looked for in a life partner. He’d shot that to hell now of course with his impetuous and hormone driven behaviour, but he cared about her too much to have her career suffer. There was no alternative position he could offer her, nothing that wouldn’t be seen as a demotion and one that would reflect poorly on her. She had to retain her position as Undersecretary, he would make that very clear to her. 

And once that was dealt with, it was time he took a very long, hard look at his life.


	12. Twelve

Turning up to work on Monday morning ranked amongst the most daunting things Hermione had ever done, including escaping from a horde of Death Eaters on the back of a Threstral, being captured and taken to Malfoy Manor and duelling Bellatrix Lestrange at the Battle of Hogwarts. 

Just like she had faced those battles and survived, she too would survive this challenge, Hermione told herself as she stepped through the Floo on Monday morning. Her hands may have been shaking but her resolve was strong. This job meant too much for her to throw away because she was embarrassed by a dumb crush she had developed on her boss.

She had spent a hellish weekend curled up in bed castigating herself for her impetuous and wanton behaviour. What must Kingsley have thought of her? Her parents had assumed she was ill; her father had made soup and her mother had fussed with her covers and taken her temperature with narrowed eyes that saw rather too much for Hermione’s liking. She had allowed their fuss, enjoying their quiet attentions and the relief from her guilt they provided, albeit momentarily.

Now, stepping out of the elevator and clenching her shaking hands, Hermione rather wished she had stayed in bed. It was early, the Ministry was almost deserted, but somehow she knew, she knew, Kingsley would already be in his office, getting a start on the day. 

She was right.

“Good morning Minister,” she greeted him, determinedly looking at a point over his shoulder. 

“Hermione,” he stood immediately. “Please come in, leave the door open.”

Hermione stood in the doorway, barely controlling the urge to fidget. If he was going to fire her, she would take it like a Gryffindor, standing tall and proud.

“Hermione, please look at me,” Kingsley implored. Her eyes snapped to his and she was floored by the contrition that was written all over his face. “Hermione, please let me apologise for my reprehensible behaviour on Friday night, there is no excuse for it. I took advantage of my seniority and put you in a position I ought not have. I can only promise you it won’t happen again and implore you to consider retaining your position here. You’re doing excellent work and I would hate to see you suffer due to my impetuosity.”

“Your behaviour?” Hermione gasped, her face flooding with heat as she broke eye contact and looked toward the desk she had been so wantonly splayed against only two days before. 

“Yes. I don’t meant to make excused but I had found myself… attracted to you for some weeks and…”

“You’re attracted to me?” She was dreaming it was the only explanation for such an unprecedented turn of events. 

“Well, yes,” Kingsley ran a hand over his face, clearly this had not been the way he had expected this conversation to go. 

“I’m attracted to you!” Hermione gasped, without conscious thought, her face immediately flooding with an uncomfortable prickly heat, her eyes firmly fixed on the carpet. “I… I didn’t mean to act on it, it wasn’t intended it just…happened.”

Kingsley gaped at her, his mouth open, his eyes wide.

“But… you ran out of here, I thought I’d forced…”

“No!” Hermione immediately interrupted him. “I was embarrassed to have behaved so… so wantonly. I didn’t dream you could ever be attracted to me in return.”

“Well, I am,” Kingsley stepped closer to her, hesitating. 

“Oh,” Hermione spoke softly, her eyes glancing up to meet his. “Well Minister, the feeling is mutual.” 

“Good morning!” The cheery voice of Roger, Kingsley’s PA interrupted them, causing them both to take an involuntary step back. “A busy day today Minister, Hermione. There’s an interview with the Prophet first up Sir. Hermione you’re going to want to sit in on that to offer some policy directive…”

The week began in earnest then, but the glance Kingsley shot Hermione over Roger’s head told her they certainly weren’t done with their conversation.


	13. Thirteen

If Kingsley had have known how long it would take to get back to their conversation, he would have shoved Roger back out his office door, locked it and warded it for good measure on Monday morning. Life as the Minister for Magic was always busy, unbelievably so, but this week seemed to have been invented to keep he and Hermione from ever having an uninterrupted moment alone. 

Monday and Tuesday both flew by in a veritable deluge of media interviews regarding the bill currently before the Wizengamot. Around midday on Tuesday, Kingsley had asked Roger to have lunch for two set up at his desk, thinking that he and Hermione could talk while they ate. They had just sat down when Persephone came in, helped herself to a sandwich and started debriefing with them on the unfavourable article that had appeared in the Daily Prophet that morning regarding their legislation. Hermione had been called into another meeting before Persephone had left and she and Kingsley had made regretful eye contact with each other as she stood to leave.

The next opportunity arose on Wednesday morning when they found themselves alone in the office before seven am. Always conscientious, Hermione read her overnight memos before greeting him and, upon reading that they had lost the vote of Madame Selwyn overnight, had garbled out an apology before flying out the door to arrange a meeting with the crotchety old biddy in an attempt to sway her back.

Thursday had seen a meeting that ought to have taken an hour stretch over the space of ten, as they met with the chief backers of the bill to thrash out the plans for the final question time, due to occur the following week. Hermione had been seated beside Kingsley for most of the day, and while he was professional enough not to play footsie with her under the table, it had been a close run thing.

And so it was Friday night again, a week since they had been pressed against her desk, making out like teenagers. Not that Hermione was a lot older than that, Kingsley thought uncomfortably, before pushing the thought aside.

Both remained at their separate desks, diligently working as the office slowly emptied around them. Roger was the last to leave, bidding them cheerily not to work too late and, as the door swung shut behind him, Hermione stood and made her way into Kingsley’s office, loitering awkwardly by his desk.

Kingsley stood and walked around his desk towards her. He couldn’t stand how nervous she looked; eyes downcast, teeth worrying her lower lip. 

“Hermione,” he spoke gently and reached out, tipping her chin up and forcing her to meet his gaze. “We don’t have to do this, we don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do. We can pretend this never happened if you’d prefer.”

“No,” she shook her head determinedly. “That’s not what I want at all.”

“Good, it’s not what I want either,” he breathed, running his thumb down along her cheek as he cupped her face in his hand. 

Their lips met then, sweetly, almost chastely when compared with their frenetic passion the week before. She tasted sweet and minty, almost as if she had cleaned her teeth in preparation for just this eventuality and she was soft and pliant in his arms as they came down around her. 

A door slammed open in the outer office. They stepped away from each other immediately.

“Forgot my planner!” Roger called out cheerily. 

They both called our strained farewells as he left again and stood, looking at each other uncertainly.

“The office is not the place for this it seems,” Hermione offered eventually.

“No,” there was nowhere else they could find privacy either, Kingsley thought to himself. No restaurant or bar they could go to that wouldn’t result in the front page of tomorrow’s Daily Prophet featuring them. Even the Muggle world was fraught with risk, as more witches and wizards than ever braved the world that ran parallel to their own in the post war normalcy. “We… would you be comfortable coming back to my home, Hermione?” 

She nodded immediately and resolutely. Kingsley reached behind him for a scrap of parchment and a quill and scrawled 

_The home of Kingsley Shacklebolt can be found at 3 Cyprus Crescent, Chiswick._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kingsley has informed me I will have to change the rating of the story to explicit to capture the next chapter. Apologies if you would otherwise have not read an explicit story. I didn't intend for this one to be so, but Kingsley had other ideas in mind...
> 
> See you tomorrow!


	14. Fourteen

Hermione gave Kingsley a ten minute head start as he had asked. She used the time wisely; brushing her teeth and hair, reapplying some make up and transfiguring her basic panties and bra into black lace. Just in case, she told herself.

Stepping through the Floo, she quietly murmured her destination despite the Atrium appearing to be deserted, she didn’t want to risk discovery.

She had been to Kingsley’s townhouse on one other occasion, though arriving via the Floo had a lot to be said for it when compared to arriving on the back of a Threstral. Her heart was pounding almost as frantically in her chest now as it had been then.

She stumbled as she stepped out of the Floo, and Kingsley, who must have been hovering rather closely, caught her up in his arms. 

“Steady,” he murmured, his voice reverberating through her. 

She had nowhere to go, trapped as she was between his hard, unyielding body and the hearth. There was no where she wanted to go. Reaching up on the tips of her toes, she twined her arms about his neck and pulled his head down until their lips met.

Passion exploded between them in a clashing of teeth, tongues and lips. Each poured the weeks of pent up tension and insecurity into the kiss as they pawed frantically at each other’s clothes. Skirt shoved up over her thighs, Hermione found herself straddling Kingsley as he sat on the couch, his lips at her neck, his hands frantically groping at her panties. He was so large compared to her that she could do nothing but grind herself wildly against him as she fumbled with the buttons to his shirt, reefing it off and pressing her naked chest against his own. She gasped as he cursed and stood, with her legs wrapped around his waist to yank his pants down to his ankles. He stumbled back against the couch and she fell against him, grasping the back of his head as his teeth worried her breast and his fingers shoved aside the fabric of her underwear. With one thrust, he was inside her. 

They both paused, making eye contact, the intensity of their actions catching them both by surprise. Hermione breathed deeply as her body stretched to accommodate the breadth of him, hot and pulsing against her centre. Without conscious thought, she clenched around him.

Kingsley hissed under his breath.

Their lips met again, smoother now, but just as intense. Their tongues moved against the others in hot, open mouthed kisses and Kingsley’s hands came to rest at her ass, pressing her more firmly against her and coaxing her hips into an undulating rhythm that forced groans from both of their throats.

Hermione’s hips moved frantically as Kingsley worried her neck with his teeth and tongue, massaging her ass in his hands. She rose and fell against him harshly, straining as she chased the delicious tension coiled low in her belly. Kingsley’s voice, low and husky urged her on.

“That’s it baby, ride my cock. Fuck you’re so damn tight Hermione, god I’ve been dreaming about being inside you for weeks,” as he spoke Kingsley’s hand moved between them, feeling the place where they were joined and gathering the dampness their on his hand. Slipping his fingers higher, he pressed them against her, causing her pleasure to spike sharply, leaving her gasping his name repeatedly like a chant as she canted her hips roughly against his.

Her breath left her in a gasp as Kingsley suddenly flipped them, leaving her prone underneath him, her knees pressed up against her chest as he rose above her, never breaking his rhythm. Their hips slapped against one another’s violently, the wet suction sound from the place they were joined was completely obscene and Kingsley’s fingers played her body like an instrument.

“I can feel you getting close baby,” he told her, his teeth grinding, the cords of his neck straining. “Give it up for me Hermione, now.”

As if on cue, she exploded in a haze of pleasure so intense she saw stars. Her muscles clenched around him, spasming violently, forcing his own pleasure out of him until he stilled inside her with a shout, before collapsing on top of her, legs intertwined, still buried deep within her. 

Hermione’s body convulsed with aftershocks, twitching and fighting his weight on top of her. Still, she murmured a protest as he slipped out of her and sat up, their eyes meeting.

“Well,” Hermione murmured, forcing herself into a sitting position. “Now what?”


	15. Fifteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I stand with the LGBTQI+ community and share your pain and disappointment in the actions once again taken by the creator of this world we all love so much. If any of you ever feel you need any support, I am always here to listen.

Now what?

Now what? 

Despite the pleasure thrumming through him with a steady beat, Kingsley was mortified. He had acted like a rutting teenager, pouncing on her the second she stepped through the Floo, mauling her, shoving his way inside her with almost no foreplay before he could even remove her underwear and lasting all of five minutes! The saving grace of course was that she too, had reached orgasm, thank Merlin, but he had hardly acquitted himself well.

Kingsley had not put on such a display since Morgana Fawley had snuck into his dormitory in sixth year. Hermione made him feel like a teenager again, twenty years later. He was better than that now, he had years of experience to lie at her feet. He knew more about women now than he had twenty years ago, more than any of the boys her age could give her and he needed to prove it to her. 

“Now,” he rumbled, standing up and pulling her to her feet. “We go upstairs so we can do that again, properly this time.” 

She flushed and Kingsley looked appreciatively on as her blush extended down her neck and onto her chest. How was he ever meant to get any work done again knowing that every time she blushed in the office, the heat was spreading down to the rosy pink of the nipples he had feasted on? 

“Properly?” Hermione squeaked, pulling her skirt down over her hips, leaving her clad in her skirt and nothing else. She looked so deliciously rumpled, her hair wild, her chest exposed and bare foot that Kingsley knew there would be no issues with putting on a repeat performance. “I thought what we did was pretty proper already.”

“I can do better,” he promised, tugging her through the house. “We can do better.”

“You have a lovely home,” she told him, as she peaked around corners and into rooms as he pulled her up the stairs.

“I have a boring home,” Kingsley corrected her. “I’ve done nothing to it except the bare minimum. I hardly spend any time here, it’s never seemed worth it.”

“It’s lovely,” she said firmly. “It has so much potential.” 

It was on the tip of his tongue to tell her she could do whatever she wanted, change drapes, decorate, whatever, before the consequences of making such a statement caught up to him. He shook his head to clear it of such thoughts. 

His bedroom was embarrassingly untidy; bed unmade, the previous days clothes strewn on the floor, a tower of books as high as the bed stacked precariously beside it. 

“Kingsley,” Hermione gasped, smothering a laugh. “You’re a slob!”

“I spend almost no time here,” he repeated, kicking his worn clothes under the bed in a half-hearted effort to hide them. 

“I expected you to have a house elf tidying up after you before your socks hit the floor,” Hermione giggled. “Sacred twenty eight and all.”

“My parents have house elves who would love to get their hands on Master Kingsley’s mess,” he admitted. “But I didn’t bring you up here to discuss house elves Hermione.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Minister isn't done with her yet...


	16. Sixteen

Hermione melted into his embrace as Kingsley’s arms came around her, drawing her against his half nude body and lowering his lips to hers in a languid meshing of tongues and lips. Her head spun with the intoxicating taste of him, that wicked combination of sweet and warm and the sharp tang that reminded her of his cologne. His hands pressed her firmly against him, warm and delicious against her naked back, before coming to rest on the zip of her pencil skirt, lowering it and letting it fall to the floor.

Here was the reason she had transfigured her underwear, as Kingsley fingered the lace that ran the length of her hip with an appreciative moan. His lips never ceased as they traversed the length of her jaw and then the column of her neck, before sucking gently on her pulse point.

Hermione’s knees buckled, only Kingsley’s arms prevented her from falling. With an appreciative chuckle, he pressed her lightly back against the bed, immediately following her down, kicking his remaining clothing off as he went. Entirely naked now he pressed himself along her body and Hermione delighted in the strong, steady warmth of him, overwhelmed with sensation. Her legs entwined with his, her hands running over the strong muscles of his back. She tilted her hips up to meet his own desperate for some friction, but Kingsley reached between them and pressed her hips back to the bed with a firmness that should have offended her but instead delighted. 

“We’re doing this properly, remember?” He chastised his eyes dark in their intensity. “And properly means me driving you to distraction before I slip inside you again.”

Hermione moaned at the words, spoken in his rumbling, deep voice that had always reassured and now elicited the sort of arousal she had never dreamt possible. He was pinning her to the bed with his weight, one hand firmly restraining her canting hips, she was already distracted! She told him so on a gasp.

“We can do better than this little witch.”

His lips returned to her neck then, one hand snaking upwards to grasp her throat and tilt her head back for better access. She keened lowly as his teeth grazed her, her hips bucking uselessly against the solid weight of him pressing her into the mattress.

“You are impatient,” he chuckled against her skin, as his lips leisurely danced down her chest. “We have a long way to go Hermione.”

She was lost in a maelstrom of sensations, his words, his lips, his hands and the feel of his strong body pressed against her. Her head was cloudy with desire and frustration, her body keening for more friction and she swore aloud as his mouth closed around one nipple, sucking with a pressure that left her core pulsing, demanding its turn. 

She felt him laugh again as he blew a stream of breath against her turgid nipple, before moving on to do the same with the other. His lips continued their unhurried path down her stomach, pausing to lave her navel briefly, before he paused again, and with a lazy wave of his hand, banished her transfigured panties. 

Even through her pleasure, Hermione took a moment to be impressed by his casual use of wandless, wordless magic. She had known Kingsley was powerful but such a display at such a moment was almost as arousing as the sweep of his tongue down the crease of her thighs.

As his destination became obvious, Hermione began to struggle against the hands that massaged her breasts and pinned her to the bed with the same movement.

“Kingsley you can’t!” She gasped, her cheeks flushing as she struggled to close her legs and press his shoulders out of her way. She was sticky with her essence and his, it was obscene!

He grinned wolfishly at her, never breaking eye contact as he lowered his head into her curls and sucked her clit into his mouth.

Hermione screamed.

He did not relent, alternating a suckling motion with kisses that would have been chaste had he placed them anywhere else on her body. Hermione’s head was thrown back, her chest heaving as she tried to draw air into her burning lungs, the coil in her belly twisting tighter and tighter. He was unyielding in his attentions, even as she garbled out nonsense words and pleas and then, with no warning, he swiped two fingers through the moisture his lips and tongue had created and shoved them deep inside her at the same moment he suckled her clit. 

Hermione fell apart with an explosion, her core contacting violently around his invading fingers. She had not drawn breath, her inner muscles had not ceased when he flung himself upwards, covered her with his body and breached her with one powerful thrust.

He paused inside of her, as Hermione’s walls pulsated around his straining length. He bought one hand up to brush the sweaty mess of hair back from her forehead, before lowering his lips to kiss her deeply.

Hermione wanted to protest, she could taste herself on his tongue! But the gesture was too sweet, his care too earnest for her to care. As his lips moved he rocked himself gently into her, gasping against her mouth as she wrapped her arms around his neck and her legs about his waist, tilting her hips to allow him to slide in even further. She clung to him as her only anchor in the storm, as they exchanged breath through their kiss and their hips came together over and over again, his thrusts deep and sure. 

After such an explosive peak Hermione was sure she could not do so again, but with remarkable restraint, Kingsley took her there. His mouth never ceased as his hips canted against her own, his pubic bone pressing into her clit, his thrusting butting against that sweet spot inside of her. As Hermione’s walls began to tremble again, her eyes rolled back in her head and she came, aware as she did of his hoarse shout and the flooding of warmth inside of her that indicated he too had found his pleasure. 

They stayed pressed together for several moments longer, before Kingsley wrapped his arms around her, rolling her to the side and slipping out of her as he did so. 

Curled in his arms, it was not a conscious decision for her eyes to close. Hermione was lulled to sleep by the sound of Kingsley’s heartbeat against her ear, warm in his embrace.


	17. Seventeen

When Kingsley awoke it was dark and he was cold. The scuffling at the end of his bed was either a very large mouse or his Undersecretary fleeing before morning came.

“Stay,” he murmured in protest, sleep making him hoarse. 

“I can’t,” she responded in a whisper. “Mum and dad will worry if I don’t come home.” 

The bed shifted as she knelt beside him, pressing a swift kiss against his lips with a murmured farewell, before she fled.

He heard the sound of her on the stairs, a pause as she gathered her belongings and then the activation of the Floo. Rolling over in bed, Kingsley stared into the darkness, wide awake now.

Mum and dad will worry…

Merlin, she still lived with her parents.

Academically, he had known this. Having only recently been found in Australia and their memories restored, Hermione had been keen to spend as much time with her parents as possible. A large part of that, Kingsley had hypothesised, was in an attempt to make up for the lost years she had caused her parents and the guilt she felt about the actions she had taken to keep them safe. It made sense, he knew, for her to live with them as they mended their relationships and made up for lost time. But still…

She lived with her parents. She was young enough for such an action to be unremarkable. He was twenty years her senior. He was her boss for Merlin’s sake! 

What had they been thinking? 

The spark between them was impossible to deny, the chemistry between them explosive, they had proved that. He both liked and respected Hermione as a colleague and as a friend, had that been destroyed with their actions of the night?

Or would that now transition into something else, something more?

If it did, the fallout could be cataclysmic, for both of them.


	18. Eighteen

Saturday morning, after brunch with her parents during which Hermione managed not to blush when they enquired what had kept her at work so late the night before, Hermione bid her parents goodbye and stepped through the Floo to Grimmauld Place.

Harry, Ron and Ginny had taken up residence in the old Black manor months prior, mostly due to the existing protections on it which ensured their complete privacy from the public and the press. Molly Weasley was aghast, more at the idea of how they would feed themselves than at Harry and Ginny living together without the benefit of marriage. Somehow, the three had managed to survive to date, thanks in no small part to the regular meals and care packages Molly left in their kitchen at least weekly.

They were in the kitchen when Hermione arrived, finishing their own breakfast. The boys called hello’s with nary a glance, used to Hermione coming and going as she pleased. Ginny on the other hand, took one look at Hermione’s face and ordered the boys out of the kitchen.

“Oi!” Ron protested as she shoved him bodily out of his seat. “I’m still eating.”

“Go eat some place else,” Ginny demanded, shoving his plate and his teacup into his hands. “Hermione and I need to talk, _privately_.” 

Harry, unwilling to take on both his best friend and his girlfriend, acquiesced easily, though not without a narrowing of his eyes as he took in Hermione’s wan features. He squeezed her hand as he passed her and Hermione offered him a small, forced smile. 

When the door swung shut behind them, Hermione waved her wand, muttering protection charms and wards that were likely excessive. She knew the boys well enough to not expect they wouldn’t eavesdrop. 

“What’s going on?” Ginny demanded instantly, her eyebrows raised at the wards Hermione was constructing, as she slid a cup of tea across the table towards Hermione. 

“I had sex with Kingsley Shacklebolt last night,” Hermione confessed without prelude. “Twice. Though I orgasmed three times.”

To her credit, Ginny managed not to shriek, though Hermione could see it was not without effort. 

“Oh yeah,” Ginny attempted a casual mien. “How was it? Pretty good I’m guessing if you came three times.”

“Ginny!” Hermione was the one shrieking, her voice crackling. “I told you I had sex, twice, with the Minister of Magic and your response is to ask if it was good?”

“It’s not like he’s really the Minister to us though y’know?” Ginny shrugged, her eyes narrowing as she took in Hermione’s slightly trembling hands as they lifted her teacup to her mouth. “He’s Kings.”

“He’s my boss,” Hermione’s voice trembled and she took a large gulp of tea in an attempt to hide it. “My boss Ginny! What was I thinking?”

“I’m guessing you likely weren’t thinking, which is more of a Weasley trait,” Ginny mused. “Hermione, calm down. Tell me what happened afterwards.”

Hermione’s head hit the table with a thunk.

“That good ‘eh?”

“I snuck out.”

“You snuck out?” Ginny exclaimed. “I thought you said it was good?”

“It was the most amazing sex of my life,” Hermione groaned, fisting her hands in her hair in agitation. “No offence to your brother.” 

“Do me a favour and let me be in the room when you say that in his hearing,” Ginny laughed, standing and crossing the room to wrap an arm around Hermione. “Calm down love, it’s going to be okay. Was it a one off do you think? Or are you hoping for more?”

“I… I don’t know Ginny. It was amazing and Kingsley’s amazing and…. If I’m honest, I’ve always had a bit of a crush on him.”

“I can see that,” Ginny nodded. “He’s older, powerful, wickedly smart. Just your type Miss Granger.” 

“But he’s my boss,” Hermione continued as if she hadn’t spoken. “I would be killing my career. And risking his. It’s not smart, we shouldn’t…. we can’t, right?” 

“You can’t make this decision alone,” Ginny told her bracingly. “Kingsley is our friend. You fought in a war together. You have to talk to him. Regardless of what happens, you have to work together.”

“You’re right,” Hermione nodded decisively. “Quick, I need to write to him before I change my mind.”

Ginny scrambled for a quill and a scrap of parchment.

_Kingsley,_ Hermione wrote, _can we talk?_


	19. Nineteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've had a really, really terrible few days. Apologies for my absence.

She was a Gryffindor for a reason.

Kingsley couldn’t fathom the amount of courage it must have taken her to send him an owl requesting they talk after she had snuck out of his house less than twelve hours prior. He had wanted to tell her to come over whenever, immediately if she could, but his weekend had been busy; he was already committed to a charity fundraiser dinner on the Saturday night, and Sunday brunch with his parents and siblings, so dinner on Sunday night it had become.

Brunch had been a nightmare, distracted as he was. His family had teased and ribbed him mercilessly in an effort to snap him out of his funk. When that hadn’t worked, they had taken to trying to get the reason for his distraction out of him, with wild guesses and improbable conjectures, of everything from the Merpeople staging a coup of the Ministry, to a ghoul keeping him up at night. His sister Katia laughingly suggested Kingsley was in love, which, to his assembled family, seemed to be the most ridiculous statement of all.

Why that had made him angry enough to leave, Kingsley wasn’t sure.

Now, waiting for Hermione to step through the Floo, Kingsley’s nerves were getting the better of him. He was not usually a nervous person, his outwardly calm demeanour was not a façade; he was rarely ruffled. Such cool headedness had saved his life many times during two wars and the years he had spent in between as an Auror. It was failing him now.

After Hermione had left on Friday night, Kingsley had lay awake for hours. The sensible action to take was clear; they should acknowledge what had happened, agree it could never happen again and continue on with their separate lives as colleagues and quasi-friends. Hermione, he knew, would eventually move on and he would have to watch as she arrived at work in the same clothes she had worn the night before, sleep deprived and happy, knowing she had spent the night with someone else.

Kingsley was an intelligent man. He also prided himself on his emotional intelligence. In examining the automatic and vehement rejection he felt towards such an image, he could only draw one conclusion. He was developing feelings for Hermione Granger. 

What recourse did such a discovery leave him with?

The fireplace flared green, giving Kingsley warning she was about to arrive. Hermione stepped through, brushing soot off herself and smiling rather shyly at him.

Kingsley was sure his returning smile could have been described in only one way; goofy.

“Thanks for inviting me over,” Hermione said politely, making no move to walk further into the room.

“Thank you,” Kingsley echoed. “For coming, I mean. And for owling me. I’m glad you did.” 

Dinner sat on the table under warming charms, Kingsley poured wine and they both sat. It was undeniably awkward as they spoke about inconsequential matters, neither willing to be the one to bring up their actions of two nights previous, nor of the tension that thrummed between them even now. Kingsley had wondered if the chemistry that constantly seemed to spark between them might abate now that they had been together. He had been wrong, if anything, it was stronger. 

It was, of course, the Gryffindor who raised the subject as they nursed the last of their wine.

“So, Friday night.”


	20. Twenty

“Friday night,” Kingsley echoed, his fingers tightening convulsively against the stem of his wine glass. It made his heart ache to see Hermione’s lowered head and fidgeting hands across the table. She was usually so assured and confident in herself, seeing her so anxious and unsure was unsettling. It occurred to him that in this situation, he was the more experienced of the two and he owed it to her to put himself out there.

Not that that had ever gone well in any of his past relationships of course.

“Hermione, Friday night was, well it was lovely,” Kingsley started, wincing at how lame he sounded. 

“I’m sorry I left,” her words were almost a whisper. “I did… I did have to get home, but I was also feeling a bit… overwhelmed.”

“I know the feeling,” Kingsley agreed. “There’s… a lot to think about Hermione.”

“I know,” she replied, her eyes darting upwards to meet his. “This, it makes no sense.” 

“No,” Kingsley acquiesced, thinking that, despite her words, he didn’t think she was about to tell him they should go back to a strictly professional relationship. Taking a deep breath, Kingsley decided to take the Hippogriff by the balls and dive right in. “Hermione, Friday night happened, on my end at least, because I’m very attracted to you. I think you’re beautiful. But I’m also attracted to your mind and your passion and your drive. I enjoy being with you, in a way I haven’t felt about another person in some time.”

Hermione’s mouth fell open at his soliloquy, her eyes wide, her cheeks flushed. Kingsley felt himself growing uncomfortable under her gaze and averted his eyes to focus on the now empty wine glass in front of him. 

“If things were different, if you were older or if I was younger, if I wasn’t the Minister for Magic… I wouldn’t hesitate. But I am the Minister and I am your boss and I am twenty years your senior and, despite the fact that I want this, despite the fact that I want you, I’m very concerned what this could mean, for both of us,” Kingsley broke off, shaking his head and laughing at his own arrogance. “I’m getting ahead of myself here though, I shouldn’t assume you’re even interested in me… beyond one night.”

“I am!” Hermione blurted immediately. “Interested. Very. Maybe too much.” 

Well, that was flattering. 

“I doubt very much you’re too interested Hermione,” Kingsley felt the spark between them begin to simmer, his temperature rising, his skin prickling with anticipation. Idly, he wondered if things would always be so intense between them, so ready to spark. 

“It feels that way,” she admitted. “This, it makes no sense. It’s such a risk! But… I still want it.” 

There was too much space between them. Kingsley pushed his chair back and stood, crossing the table to where she sat and pulling her to her feet, rather less gently than he had intended.

“I want it too,” he told her. “It’s illogical and irrational and I want it too.”

There was no other action he could take then, but to kiss her.


	21. Twenty One

They almost ended up on the couch again, but Kingsley had laughed, protested he was too old for such shenanigans and swept her up the stairs to his bedroom. Passion simmered between them, but the atmosphere was lighter than it had been two days previously, as they tripped and laughed and kissed their way up the staircase. 

Kingsley was as thorough as he had been when they had last fallen into the same bed together, though their light hearted, playful mood continued as he alternated languid kisses with teasing fingers that tickled and made her laugh. It was as if the tension that had gripped them for weeks had finally fled, leaving them almost giddy in its absence. 

When Kingsley’s questing hands found that Hermione was particularly ticklish behind her knees, he delighted in her protesting shrieks of laughter. She scrambled away from him across the bed like a crab, breathless with laughter, her head spinning in delight as he stalked her around the bed, his eyes intense even as he laughed. Hermione feinted to one side, then the other, laughing as he fell to the bed diving to catch her. Hermione flopped to the bed beside him, gasping with laughter, her hands running over his naked back as he laughed into the duvet. 

Kingsley rolled to his side, propping himself up on his elbow and reached out to stroke the hair off Hermione’s face. His grin faded into an intensely predatory look, his eyes darkening in a way that caused Hermione’s heart to escalate violently in her chest and a steady, thrumming pulse to settle between her legs.

Kingsley reached for her, his hands spanning her hips and effortlessly pulling her astride him. Hermione gasped at the feel of him, hard and pulsing at her core. Instinctively she ground against his cock, her eyes rolling back in her head as the length of him pressed against her. 

“Fuck,” Kingsley ground out, pushing himself into a sitting position. Hermione wrapped herself around him, legs and arms and desperately pushed her mouth against his as he pulled back, guided himself to his entrance and pulling her down onto him.

Their tongues and lips danced desperately as they ground against each other. Neither had any leverage in such a position but Hermione didn’t care for anything except having him buried deep inside of her and their lips fusing. Her core pulsed around him as they rocked, their tongues battling, his hands pressing her deep against him.

“Kingsley,” she moaned, over and over again as his lips and tongue broke away from hers to travel the length of her throat. “Kingsley.”

His name was a liturgy, a prayer, the only word she was capable of crying as he worshipped her with his body. Heat thrummed between them, magic sparking as they each chased the others pleasure.

“I need…I need,”

“Yes!” Hermione cried, answering whatever plea he was too far gone to enunciate. “Yes, please, whatever you need!” 

He growled, the sound coming from low in his throat as he pressed himself up from the bed, Hermione still wrapped around him and pushed her bodily against the wall. It ought to have hurt, maybe it would tomorrow, but now, Hermione delighted in his power and strength and the change of angle that had him hitting her just where she needed it the most desperately.

He was the only thing that existed in her world, as he thrust roughly inside her, his snapping hips and strong chest keeping her pressed firmly against the wall. She had no grab, no purchase; she was entirely within his mercy as he pounded into her, demanding her pleasure.

It was the easiest thing in the world to obey him.

They slumped to the floor together in a tangle of sweaty, satiated limbs. 

“Do you have to leave tonight?” Kingsley asked, panting as he regained his breath and pressed a kiss to her slightly damp curls. 

“No,” she replied, feeling a little shy. “I wasn’t sure what to expect. So I said I was spending the night at Grimmauld, just in case.”

She felt his smile pressed into her hair and her heart sung in response. They had all night.


	22. Twenty Two

Kingsley wasn’t sure what he had done to get so lucky.

It was nearing midnight and he was relaxing in a magically enlarged, very luxurious bath tub, surrounded by deliciously scented bubbles and almost too hot water, with a nubile young woman seated between his legs, pressed up against his chest. Her fingers trailed up and down his thighs and her hair, frizzy in the humidity of the bathroom, was almost suffocating him.

It was sensory bliss.

“It’s so easy like this,” Hermione murmured, breaking the quiet of the bathroom. “I wish we could stay like this forever. Just us, no family, no friends, certainly no colleagues or press. Just us, this bathtub and maybe the bedroom as well.”

Kingsley chuckled, enjoy how the sound reverberated through her, causing her breasts to jiggle slightly under the water. 

“Things are going to be… intense, when everyone finds out,” Kingsley agreed. 

“Rita Skeeter,” Hermione groaned. “That woman hates me. She’s going to be vitriolic, Kingsley, you wait. Hermione Granger lays her claws into another famous wizard. That cow.” 

“She’s horrid,” Kingsley ran his hand up and down her arm soothingly. “Though even I can see she seems to have it out for you in particular. Why is that I wonder?”

Hermione tensed in his arms and didn’t answer.

“I sense a story here,” Kingsley prodded.

“Am I speaking to the Minister of Magic right now, former Auror?” Hermione asked. “Or Kingsley my…”

She trailed off, obviously unwilling to label Kingsley as her anything just yet. 

“I’m just Kingsley,” he assured her, very intrigued. “Though I’m certain there’s nothing you could have done that the Minister or former Auror would need to be concerned with.”

“Like keeping a reporter in a jar for several weeks after finding out she was an unregistered Animagus?”

Kingsley gaped at her.

“What… how? When did this happen?” He eventually settled on asking.

“The summer after the Triwizard tournament.”

“Hermione, you were fifteen!” Kingsley exclaimed, equally impressed and horrified.

“Imagine what I’m capable of if she crosses me now,” Hermione muttered darkly. “She’s going to be a nightmare about this Kingsley. And she’s registered now, I’ve checked, so there’s no use blackmailing her now.” 

“How quickly your mind goes to illegal activities,” Kingsley chuckled. 

“Kings, how would you feel… please don’t think I’m ashamed or… but, I’d like a chance to get this right, between us, before we start involving other people,” he could feel the tension racking her body as she spoke. 

“You’d like to keep this a secret?” Kingsley clarified.

“Not forever!” She hastened to assure him. “Just, at the beginning, while we work out, what this is and how it’s going to work.” She spun where she sat, moving to her knees and reaching out to grasp his face between her wet hands. “I feel like this could be something, something special Kingsley and I don’t want the media, or our friends or families to influence us.” 

“Not forever?” He confirmed. “I’m too old to be sneaking around Hermione.”

“No sneaking,” she agreed, reaching forward to press her wet, slippery body against his. “Just, keeping quiet and being subtle.” 

He wrapped his arms around her, refusing to let her move away. He had to admit, the idea was appealing. 

“Subtle,” he agreed, kissing her thoroughly. “Quiet.” 

She was not quiet after that.


	23. Twenty Three

Keeping things quiet, Hermione decided over the course of the next week, could be fun. 

At work, she and Kingsley were both their usual professional selves, for the most part. If occasionally their hands would graze over the top of a desk, or their feet would meet below it, nobody was any the wiser. 

After work, if Hermione had spent more time at Kingsley’s home than her own, neither of them seemed unhappy about it. Their nights were idyllic, cooking dinner together, debating current events over wine after eating and then, well, the chemistry between them showed no signs of abating. 

Friday was upon them again and the office emptied out as Kingsley and Hermione sat together in his office, drafting and re-drafting the next phase of the legislation due to go before the Wizengamot in the coming weeks. As night crept in and the office emptied, Hermione’s concentration to her task began to wane. Instead, she begun to fidget in her seat as she recalled Kingsley’s actions the night before and how many times he had bought her to the peak with his tongue and lips alone. 

It was an action she had yet to reciprocate. 

Without pausing to think about it, because if she did, surely she wouldn’t be brave enough to go ahead, Hermione fell to her knees and scooted under the desk.

“Hermione?” Kingsley asked in alarm. “What are you…oh!”

She did not answer, reaching instead for him, pushing open his robes and unbuckling his leather belt. She had him in her hand in another moment, soft and flexible in a way he rarely was when they spent time together. Without waiting, she lent forward on her knees and swallowed him whole.

“Merlin, Hermione!” 

His reaction spurned her on, hollowing out her cheeks and applying a firm suction as she ran her tongue firmly along his quickly growing length. He was warm and wet in her mouth, pulsing with need and, as he grew, she choked slightly, pulling back and willing herself to breathe through her nose. 

She moaned around him as Kingsley tentatively threaded his fingers through her hair, applying gentle pressure and groaning as she followed his unspoken demand.

Kingsley’s moans and groans spurned her actions, as she swallowed him as deeply as she was able, sucking and swallowing and letting him hit the back of her throat over and over again. With him guiding her with a firm grip on her hair and her best efforts, it didn’t take long. 

“Fuck Hermione,” she thrilled to hear the deep intensity of his growl. “I’m going to…”

Her only response was to increase her pressure, her eye watering with lack of oxygen and flooding with tears as he spurted down the back of her throat. Still, she sat back with a smile, dabbing delicately at her mouth as she pulled away from him and took in his flushed and dazed expression. 

“Hermione,” he breathed, running his hand along her hair. “Such a good girl.”

A noise from the outer office startled her and Hermione flew to her feet, bumping her head as she went. The noise faded, leaving her to assume it had been a cleaning elf, come and gone before they knew it. Still, the noise had been enough to shock her out of her daring mood. As the possible repercussions of her actions caught up with her, shame flooded her, hot and intense.

“Hermione.”

She heard Kingsley’s voice, but refused to meet his gaze. Instead she glanced down and blanched as she caught sight of a familiar creamy stain on the skirt of her sensible pencil dress. 

“Oh my god,” she muttered, hysteria creeping into her voice. “Oh my god, I’m Monica Lewinsky.” 

Her instinct was to flee, but Kingsley caught her up in her arms before she could act on such a thought. Pulling her tightly against him, Kingsley collapsed in his chair, now flaccid penis still hanging out of his trousers, and nestled her on his lap. She curled up there, pressing her face into his shirt and drawing comfort and support from the strength of his body and the steady thrumming of his heart.

“Monica Lewinsky was an intern in the White House,” Hermione explained quietly when she had calmed sufficiently to explain herself. “She had an affair with the President and…”

“I know who Monica Lewinsky is Hermione,” Kingsley interrupted her. “I also know that she and President Clinton engaged in an affair while he was married. I’m not married, and, while we’re keeping this quiet at the moment, you are not my dirty little secret.”

Hermione nodded against his chest, enjoying the warmth of his body and his tone.

“And wizard don’t understand DNA which helps,” Hermione laughed.

Kingsley waved a hand over her dress, the quickly drying stain disappearing. 

“Just to be sure,” he said, pressing a kiss to her head.

They laughed and if neither of them moved for some time after that, neither said a word.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Clinton-Lewinsky scandal dominated the headlines in 1998. This story commenced in September of 1999. While Kingsley was likely no longer working in the Prime Minister’s office in ’98, it’s not unbelievable that he would have kept up with events influencing Muggle politics, particularly once he beame Minister.


	24. Twenty Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooo..... this story was meant to be finished today. Having missed a few scheduled posts, I'm obviously behind. We have 6 chapters to go and I hope to get them out to you as soon as possible. In the meantime, today's chapter is nice and long to make up for my absence.

Later the same night, Kingsley lay awake in bed, Hermione curled into a ball beside him sleeping peacefully. His mind was whirling, keeping him awake; the witch beside him was the reason for his insomnia.

The past week had been the happiest he could remember in some time, though nothing else had changed in his life except for having Hermione in his bed. And while it had been some time since he had had such regular, excellent sex, he was reasonably certain that wasn’t the only reason for his contentment. 

It was hard not to get carried away.

He reached out a hand to brush her wild hair off her face where it had fallen as she shifted in her sleep and frowned when he realised she was clammy. Shifting, he looked closer at her in the darkness. Her brow was furrowed, her lips moving silently. Was she getting sick?

Kingsley was sure she aged him at least a decade when she shifted away from his hand and let out the most unearthly scream he had ever heard.

“Shit,” he muttered, scrambling onto his knees in panic as she twisted and turned, thrashing beneath the covers, shrieking as if she were being tortured. “Hermione, it’s okay. It’s just a dream, wake up!”

She was insensible to his presence and her screams echoed around the room, bouncing off the walls and piercing through the darkness. Her face was a rictus of pain and panic, sweat pouring from her as she thrashed. Kingsley reached out, grabbing her shoulders and shaking her bodily, before being forced to duck as she lashed out at him violently, barely missing him. 

“Hermione! Wake up!”

He knew the second consciousness found her, as her screams died in her throat and the sound of her gasping for air was the only sound to break the silence. They were both still for a moment, when the tension fled her body and she crumpled forward into his nude chest, shaking with sobs.

“Shhh, shhhh,” Kingsley soothed, terrified by the intensity of her fear. He hauled her into his lap, wrapping his arms firmly around her and rocking her gently as if she were a small child. “It was only a dream Hermione love, only a dream.”

“Bell….Bella….Bellatrix,” Hermione choked out between sobs and Kingsley went cold with the realisation that it was not just a dream after all, but instead a memory of the living nightmare that had occurred to her within the walls of Malfoy Manor in the dying days of the war.

Rage gripped him firmly, hideous, hot anger taking hold at the thought of her, his precious girl, wandless and alone, tortured by the most insane woman he had ever met. Kingsley had been subjected to the Cruciatus curse on two occasions, but never by anyone as accomplished at casting it as that cunt Bellatrix Lestrange. 

Bellatrix ought to be glad she was dead, because if she wasn’t, if she had been one of the Death Eaters captured and imprisoned in Azkaban, he would have abused every privilege afforded to him as Minister for Magic and gone and given her a taste of her own sick medicine. 

“You’re safe Hermione,” he murmured, pressing his lips into her hair over and over again. “I’m not going to let anything happen to you, nobody is ever going to hurt you again.”

Eventually, her sobs quietened, but still she clung to him. Or perhaps he was clinging to her, he wasn’t sure.

“She’s dead,” Hermione whispered to herself. 

“That’s right, she’s dead,” Kingsley repeated her words back to her. “She can’t hurt you again. Hermione, no one is ever going to hurt you again. I promise.”

She was so small in his arms and, in every other moment of her life, so assured and confident, that it was easy to forget what she had been through only the year prior. Experiences like that left a mark, Kingsley knew. He himself frequently relieved his duel with the Dark Lord in his dreams and was still frequently startled by unexpected noises or movements. 

Such post battle trauma was common in the Auror department and Kingsley managed it as all other Auror’s did, by talking about it with other veterans over a pint. He doubted Hermione had had such an opportunity however, if the ferocity of her night terrors was anything to go by. 

And so, gently, smoothing a reassuring hand over her back, he encouraged her to talk.

She resisted at first, sure that such an action would just worsen her nightmares, but, with Kingsley’s gentle and persistent encouragement, the words eventually tumbled from her mouth. 

It was over an hour before she quietened, her voice hoarse, her hands trembling. Kingsley was feeling rather shaken himself. He had known from the Pensieve memories she, Ron and Harry had submitted for the Death Eater trials that their experience had been horrific, but nothing had prepared him for the things she had said, for what she had endured.

“You’re an amazing human being Hermione Granger,” he told her, pressing a kiss against her trembling lips. “And I am in awe of you.”

She settled back against his chest, calmer now. He lay awake long after her eyes closed and her breathing regulated, tracing the letters of the carving on her arm.


	25. Twenty Five

The weeks slipped by in a haze of hard work, excellent sex and, possibly even better companionship. The last phase of their Azkaban reform bill passed the Wizengamot and if the Minister and his Undersecretary celebrated with a bottle of champagne in the bathtub, no one was the wiser. 

Hermione was giddy with something she very firmly told herself could not be love. Infatuation, yes, lust, absolutely. It was far too early for love though, wasn’t it?

“What will you do while I entertain his Royal Highness today?” Kingsley asked as he made pancakes for them both one Saturday morning. His day was not his own, with a contingent from the magical royal family of Nicaragua visiting. Kingsley was rather bitter about it, the last several weekends having been dedicated solely to spending time, usually in bed, with Hermione.

“I’ll pop over to Grimmauld to see Ginny and the boys I think,” Hermione laughed at the disgruntled look on his face. “I’ve been neglecting them a bit lately due to this fabulous man I’m shagging.”

Kingsley laughed, swatting at her with the tea towel he had slung over his shoulder. Later, as they sat down to breakfast, he offered –

“Why don’t you tell them? About this fabulous man of yours.”

Hermione paused, her fork in mid air, shocked at his suggestion.

“I thought we were keeping things quiet and subtle?” She choked out.

“We can trust your friends I’m sure,” Kingsley shrugged. “It’s up to you Hermione, but if you want to tell them, please know it’s fine with me.” 

_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Tell them.

Tell Harry and Ron.

About her and Kingsley.

Shagging each others brains out.

She could do that.

She would do that.

“What’s wrong with you?” Ron asked taking in her uneasy expression as she stepped through the Floo. “You’re not going to chuck are you?” He edged away from her warily. 

“No!” Hermione snapped, taking a moment to right herself and dust the soot from her clothes. “I’m fine!”

“Don’t look it,” Ron mumbled under his breath. “Harry’s making tea, come have some.” 

As the four of them sat down to tea at the kitchen table, Hermione scoped the room for breakables and locations of wands. She loved her boys, but both of them were known for their explosive tempers and reacting without thinking.

“Spit it out Hermione,” Ron advised, breaking her out of her musings. “Whatever you’ve come to tell us, it won’t be that horrible.”

“It’s not,” Hermione agreed, looking up into their faces. Ginny was practically vibrating in her seat with excitement, having guessed what Hermione was there to tell them. Harry looked quietly concerned and Ron, well the quiet reassurance he exuded as he reached out to hold her hand made her dizzy with the rush of affection she suddenly felt for him. 

“It’s not terrible at all, it’s just well, rather unexpected,” she continued, squeezing Ron’s hand. “I’m seeing someone.”

Harry’s frown brightened and he grinned at her.

“Well that’s great!” Harry exclaimed. “When do we get to meet them?”

“You already know him,” she admitted, daring a glance at Ron who raised his eyebrows at her knowingly. “It’s Kingsley.”

“I knew it!” Ron exclaimed, as Ginny let out a shriek of excitement. “Nobody reacts that way he did unless they’re nuts for a girl.” 

Harry’s eyebrows had disappeared into his hairline, his mouth gaping, as he looked between the three others, as if trying to comprehend what he was hearing.

“Kingsley?” Harry’s voice was embarrassingly high pitched. “As in… Kingsley? Hermione, he’s your boss!”

“I know. It’s why we’ve kept things so quiet. But Harry, I really, really like him. I think this could be serious.”

“Damn straight,” Ginny agreed, dancing in her seat. “There’s no letting go of a man who can get you off three times on your first time together. Kingsley Shacklebolt, Minister of Magic and God of Sex.” 

“Ginny!” Hermione shrieked, her cheeks flaming. 

“You knew?” Harry rounded on his girlfriend. “You didn’t say anything?”

“I knew they’d slept together,” Ginny roled her eyes. “But since then Miss Granger has been very tight lipped about the whole affair.”

“Please don’t use that word,” Hermione groaned. “This isn’t a secret, dirty thing. We’re serious about each other I think, we just don’t… want to deal with the press.”

“And your parents,” Ron choked on a laugh. “Oh Merlin, your mum is going to have a lot to say about this.”

Hermione had been trying not to think about that.

“Makes sense though,” Ron shrugged, reaching for another chocolate biscuit. “You and Kings. You’ve been middle aged since birth. And from what I’ve heard at work, Kingsley stayed a teenager until he became Minister. You’re probably actually older than him in terms of maturity. And Merlin knows he could keep up with your swottiness in a way none of us ever could.”

Again, Hermione was warmed by a rush of affection for her former boyfriend. They had been terrible together, no matter how much they loved each other and she was so glad they had been able to hold on to their friendship once they realised they would never work as a couple. 

“Thanks Ron,” she choked. “Harry?”

“Hermione, I don’t know,” Harry glanced up at her, worry written all over his features. “Are you happy?”

“I am,” she took his hand. “It’s new and early, but he makes me happy Harry. We’re being careful, we didn’t jump into this blindly.”

She ignored Ginny’s snort at that.

“If you’re happy then I’m happy for you,” Harry smiled crookedly at her. “I like Kings, always have and Ron’s right, you do suit. But the media Hermione…”

“We’ll fight that battle when it comes. For now, it’s enough for you to all know and be okay with it.” 

Despite her words, Hermione was left feeling rather uncertain, worry gnawing at her gut. The media would be horrendous and this couldn’t stay a secret forever, she didn’t _want_ it to be a secret forever. Now that her friends knew, things suddenly felt very real indeed.


	26. Twenty Six

“Kings, you got a second?” 

Harry Potter stood in the door way of Kingsley’s office, a carefully bland expression on his face. Kingsley had been waiting for this moment since Hermione had let him know of Harry’s reaction to their relationship the weekend before. He knew Harry considered Hermione as good as family, indeed, in lieu of family given his circumstances. He also knew how protective Harry was of those that he loved and that he wouldn’t hesitate to say his peace. Even if it was to his bosses, bosses, boss.

As Kingsley ushered Harry in and offered him a seat, he knew Harry was not here to address his superior, or his comrade from the war. Harry was here to talk to the man who held his sisters heart in his hands.

“You’ve just missed Hermione,” Kingsley began, waving the door to his office closed with a lazy flick of his hand. “She’s just popped up to Level Four.”

“Shame,” Harry replied mildly, leaving Kingsley sure that Harry had waited for Hermione to be absent before making an appearance. “We had a good catch up on the weekend though.”

“So I hear,” Kingsley sank into his own chair, kicking back and opening his arms into a relaxed posture that was designed to indicate he was no threat to the young man sitting opposite him. “I’m glad you know the truth now Harry, it’s not in Hermione’s nature to keep secrets.”

“No it’s not,” Harry agreed. “Given that, I’m sure you can understand my concern regarding the… illicit nature of this affair.” 

Kingsley barely resisted the urge to laugh at Harry’s melodrama, knowing it was sure to spark the young man’s famously volatile temper. Harry had come to speak to him about his concerns, man to man. Kingsley owed him his respect, even with the younger man’s theatrics. 

“It’s not an affair Harry. I’m very serious about Hermione and I respect her greatly, but I think you know that.”

“I do,” Harry agreed. “Looks, Kings, you know that I like you, that I trust you. And I trust Hermione’s judgement. What I don’t understand is why you two are sneaking around. The media is going to be a shit show, whenever they catch wind of this. What does putting it off accomplish?”

Kingsley was stumped by Harry’s frank assessment of the situation. Truly, he’d never considered it in such a way. Where they simply delaying the inevitable? He was serious about Hermione, and she about him he was confident. If that was the case, they couldn’t delay telling the world forever. What did putting it off accomplish, other than making the both of them more anxious about the eventual explosion that would occur when they eventually went public? 

“I’ll speak to her,” Kingsley heard himself promising Harry. 

“Hermione…” Harry hesitated. “She doesn’t always see things clearly when it comes to people she loves. She’s so… intense about protecting them in the way that she thinks is right, that she doesn’t see that sometimes she’s causing more harm than good.” 

Kingsley nodded only half listening as the conversation continued. Could he be counted amongst the lucky few that were loved by Hermione Granger?


	27. Twenty Seven

“Harry came to see me this afternoon while you were on four,” Hermione was drifting towards sleep when Kingsley spoke from beside her in the darkness. “He wanted to talk about us.” 

“Merlin,” Hermione groaned, turning to her side and propping herself up on her pillows to regard Kingsley through the dark. “Did he make a prat of himself?”

“Only a little,” Kingsley chuckled. “But… he did make me think. About the… about how quiet we’ve kept this. And at what point we stop being so secretive.” 

Hermione swallowed convulsively, unsure what to say. What they had was so good she was extremely hesitant to spoil it with others opinions, look what had come from telling Harry and Ron!

Though…. It was good, so very good. In a way that Hermione had not experienced before and in such a deep way that it made her very certain this was more than just the honeymoon phase all new relationships went through. She knew that with the passing of time they would be less frenetic in their passion, that they would fight and disagree and they would get on each others nerves. But the connection they shared, beyond the physical, made Hermione sure that she would never find anyone she wanted more than she wanted Kingsley, forever.

The thought sent a shiver down her spine.

“The media, the innuendo, it’s all going to be the same whenever this comes out isn’t it?” She asked dolefully, leaning closer to Kingsley and allowing the warmth of his body and the familiar smell of him to comfort her.

“I think so,” Kingsley agreed. “And, I’d like to think this will be… long term enough for us to have to come clean eventually.”

“I think so as well,” Hermione smiled at him in the darkness. 

“It’s going to be ugly,” Kingsley warned, as if she didn’t know that. “They’ll query everything from how I became Minister to whether you were underage when this begun.”

“I’ve dealt with worse,” it was the uncomfortable truth. Hermione knew she was more equipped to deal with the vitriol than she had been at fifteen. The opinions of those she didn’t know no longer bothered her, though the accusations that could be levelled at Kingsley did. 

“We’ll deal with it,” Kingsley agreed, as if hearing her thoughts. “Together.”


	28. Twenty Eight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unfortunately, I couldn’t fit the ‘meet the parents’ component of this story in. Reading this chapter, please assume that Kingsley has met the Grangers and Hermione has met his family in return. Kingsley’s family accept Hermione with open arms, glad to finally see him serious about someone. Hermione’s parents are more reserved, but willing to trust her judgement. I may add this as an outtake later, but for now, it disrupted the flow of the story too much. SR x.

“I still think this is a bad idea,” Hermione hissed at him as they were lead to their table by the incredibly pompous maître d. 

“So you’ve said, at length,” Kingsley smiled through his teeth at her and the wait staff in turn. “But you, my love, are a Gryffindor through and through, always ready to charge in head first. There’s something to be said for subtlety. We’re at the most upscale restaurant in Diagon Alley; someone is going to alert the press about our romantic dinner.”

“And then spend the next few weeks speculating in the press about it,” Hermione groaned. “At which stage we’ll be forced to put out a press statement confirming our relationship, which we could just do now and save ourselves the aggravation.” 

“Haven’t you ever heard that a picture speaks a thousand words love?” Kingsley reached out and stroked her hand, as if proving a point. “This will work Hermione, just you wait and see.” 

________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

“It didn’t work,” Kingsley said in disappointment, having found a grainy picture of them on page 19 of the mornings Daily Prophet, under the headline _Minister and Golden Girl Senior Undersecretary dine at Ciccanois._ The article was exactly six lines long and focused more on the restaurant than that Kingsley and Hermione had been there together. The author seemed to have assumed they were there for work.

Hermione was pressing her lips together, clearly fighting the urge to say I told you so. 

“No appreciation for subtlety,” Kingsley grumbled under his breath, dropping the Prophet to his desk. 

“Ready to try it the Gryffindor way?” Hermione asked with a cheeky grin. 

“Have it your way,” Kingsley chuckled, swotting at her. “I’m at your command.”

_________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

“This is your plan?” Kingsley asked doubtfully as he stepped out of the Floo straight after Hermione and found her waiting for him. “Turning up to work together?”

“At the busiest time of the day,” Hermione added, moving closer to him and slipping her arm through the crook of his elbow and beaming up at him. “Trust me, this is better.”

Naturally, she was right. Kingsley was aware of the sideways glances and whispers that followed them as they went about their day at the Ministry. Though nothing changed in how they behaved, it seemed as if those around them had finally opened their eyes to the casual intimacy between the Minister and his Undersecretary. And if no one directly asked, Kingsley was sure there was no other topic under discussion around the proverbial watercooler at the Ministry that day.

“I’m not finished yet,” Hermione grinned wickedly when he finally ceded the success of her plan. “What do you say we leave a little early today?”

And so, with the Atrium full of people, all pretending not to notice or listen when they were doing exactly that, Hermione followed Kingsley through the Floo with a shout of –  
“Kingsley Shacklebolt’s home.”

________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Later that night, as they cleaned the kitchen after dinner, Kingsley charmed the wireless to play and they danced and laughed their way around the kitchen, making more mess than they were cleaning. Their was a sense of euphoria and giddiness they seemed to share. Neither had realised how desperately keeping their relationship a secret had been weighing them down until their burden had been lifted. 

They were breathless with laughter and Kingsley was soaked in sudsy water when a wrapping on the window caught their attention. Kingsley crossed the room to open it, relieving the owl of it’s burden; a copy of the Evening Prophet.

His breath caught as he took in the picture splashed across the front page. He and Hermione walking through the Atrium that morning, her hand tucked into his arm, gazing up at him with an expression that spoke undeniably of love.

“Read it out,” Hermione requested, sinking into a chair and worrying her hands nervously.

_“The Minister and the Golden Girl,”_ Kingsley began, clearing his throat and glancing up at her nervous expression. _“Rumour abounds in the Ministry of Magic this evening regarding the Minister for Magic, Kingsley Shacklebolt and Order of Merlin First Class recipient, Hermione Granger. Minister Shacklebolt and Miss Granger were seen both arriving and leaving the Ministry together today, with observers said to have overhead Miss Granger indicating her destination as the, one can assume, heavily warded and Secret Kept home of the Minister. Miss Granger has been working in the Minister’s office since September. It seems romance may have sparked over Wizengamot reform bills and many late nights in the office. Minister Shacklebolt is a notorious bachelor, resisting the allure of many a witch; could it be the Saviour’s Golden Girl, twenty years his junior, who finally catches this rogue Snitch? Time will tell.”_

Kingsley’s voice trailed off as the article ended and he looked up at Hermione whose mouth was hanging open in shock.

“It was… not hateful,” she whispered, reaching over and taking the paper from his slack hands. “They didn’t call me a slag or you a cradle snatcher…”

“They did say I was a notorious bachelor,” Kingsley laughed, reaching around and pulling her into his lap. “It’s only the start though Hermione, it could get worse from here.”

“It’s a good start though,” she murmured, pressing herself firmly into his chest. “A very good start.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 2 chapters to go! I'm hoping to finish them and have them posted over the weekend.


	29. Twenty Nine

“I feel fifteen again,” Hermione groused as she and Ginny sequestered themselves away in her bedroom at her parents place. “A Yule Ball, what on Earth were the Ministry thinking?”

“You can blame your department for that I think,” Ginny laughed as she began unshrinking the multitude of bags she had bought with her. “They’re desperate to show off the Minister and his lovely girlfriend, given how the public can’t get enough of you two.” 

Hermione groaned, Ginny was exactly right. The event they were to attend, fashioned a Twelfth Night Soiree for the Benefit of War Orphans, had been entirely of Persephone’s devising, desperate as she was to capitalise on the public’s fascination with the Minister and his Undersecretary. Kingsley had been vehemently opposed to the idea, reluctant to test the public's wherewithal of their relationship and even more reluctant to appear to be capitalising on it. When Persephone had reframed it as a benefit to raise funds for war orphans however, Kingsley had been unable to protest, especially when she had announced it to the press before he could dissent. 

The reaction to the outing of Kingsley and Hermione’s relationship had not been universally positive of course, Rita Skeeter had been as vitriolic as she ever was, suggesting Hermione had slept her way to the top, that Kingsley had only won the Minister’s position because of his relationship with Harry and Hermione and that they were part of a conspiracy to overthrow the Wizengamot with Muggle borns. Her suggestions had been so fantastical as to incite more scorn towards her than vitriol towards Kingsley and Hermione however, and while people did murmur under their breath about the age gap between the Minister and his Undersecretary, most had dismissed it as unimportant in the scheme of a wizarding lifetime. 

And so Hermione was to accompany the Minister to the soiree as his official date, in full view of the public, or at least in full view of those deemed important enough to be invited to such an event, as well as the assembled press.

Ginny’s support, both moral and actual, had been invaluable in helping her prepare for the event. Hermione was nervous; butterflies thumping in her chest, ready to vomit nervous. It wasn’t the event itself, in the sixteen months since the end of the war she had become sadly used to these public appearances, it was attending as the Minister’s date and the possibility that she would somehow manage to embarrass Kingsley. 

He was taking such a risk choosing to be with her publicly, putting his entire career on the line. It didn’t matter that he was secure in his office; Hermione had seen plenty of Ministers pushed out of office by the scorn of the public in the past. 

“You’re overthinking,” Ginny noted from her position behind Hermione as she wrestled with Hermione’s curls. “Relax Hermione. It’s going to be fine.”

And it was.

Hermione’s parents had fawned over her and Ginny, then later Harry and Kingsley when they arrived. Pictures were posed for and taken and her parents opened a bottle of champagne for an early toast to a successful evening. 

Harry and Ginny left first, having promised to meet Ron and his date, one of Ginny’s teammates, in the Atrium. Kingsley and Hermione Floo’d to his office, wanting a moment alone before facing the hoards.

“You’re a vision,” he told her, running his hands appreciatively up and down her arms, his eyes drinking her in. 

“You are,” she replied, tipping forward to rest her face against his lapels. “I’m so nervous.”

“You’ve nothing to be nervous of,” Kingsley soothed, wrapping his arms around her and pressing his lips carefully into her crown, taking pains to not disturb her hair. “We’ll be together all night and you’ll be your usually intelligent, charming self. I’m a lucky man to have such a date.”

“I’m the lucky one,” she protested.

“I love you Hermione,” Kingsley murmured. “It may be too early, but I do. I hope tonight is just the first on many boring fundraisers we have to endure together.”

Hermione’s breath caught in her chest and her eyes welled with tears at the burning sincerity she heard in his voice.

“I love you, Minister Shacklebolt,” she replied. “And I’m sure in 15 years or so, when we’re still enduring events like this together, the novelty might wear off.” 

Their lips pressed together in a sweet, chaste kiss. Tucking her hand into the crook of Kingsley’s arm, Hermione stepped beside him, all nervousness gone, replaced by a buoyant grace born of loving and being loved in return.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't thank you all enough for taking this journey with me. It has been such a joy to rediscover writing every day and your kindness and support has meant so much to me. I have no immediate plans for any other writing except for my thesis which is due in 7 weeks, but once that is out of my way, I hope to see you all again in the future.
> 
> The epilogue will be posted in a few hours
> 
> Again, thank you. xo


	30. Epilogue

_15 years later…_

“Another function,” Kingsley groused, straightening his bow tie in the reflection provided by the dark window. “Do we ever have a weekend without one?”

“Rarely,” Hermione sighed from her desk, where her quill moved frantically across a long piece of parchment as she desperately tried to finish the drafts she was making to go before the Wizengamot the following day. “Such is the life of a politicians spouse my love. Can you go and make sure Alastor isn’t destroying the office please? I’m not sure why he insisted on coming tonight.” 

“Maybe he wants to see the brilliant speech the Minister for Magic is reported to be giving tonight,” Kingsley winked at her before going off in search of their six year old son. 

Alastor was as precocious a child as could be expected for the son of two known swots, however, he had a wicked streak that Hermione could only assume came from spending so much time around Weasley’s and Potter’s. The last time he had been unattended for any significant amount of time in the Minister’s office, it had taken both his prodigiously talented parents over an hour to undo the damage he had wrought. Not to mention he was already in his dress robes for the evening and, knowing her son as she did, Hermione was concerned they would be lime green or smoking from some accidental magic if he was left without parental supervision for longer than five minutes.

Putting the finishing touches on her work, Hermione straightened and looked over herself, satisfied. She was ready for yet another evening of fundraising, polite small talk and average wine. Having her boys with her, all her boys, Harry and Ron included, was going to be the highpoint of her evening.

“Are you two ready to go?” She asked, entering the outer office and smiling, her heart warm at the sight of her husband and their son, a miniature version of Kingsley except for the shock of out of control curls atop his head. 

Kingsley smiled and reached his hand out to her, pulling her against his side warmly and feathering a kiss on her brow, Alastor worming between them. 

“Yes Minister.” 

_Fin_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, thank you xo


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